


the door is locked but the walls are thin

by Anonymous



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Desperation, Desperation Play, Facials, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Under-negotiated Kink, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 21:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What are you trying to do, make me piss my pants, or something?”Claude hums, pressing a little harder on Nolan’s shoulder. “Not necessarily.”





	the door is locked but the walls are thin

**Author's Note:**

> if you know anyone mentioned in the tags please go. inspired by [this sinbin prompt.](https://thesinbin.dreamwidth.org/3790.html?thread=5070286#cmt5070286) sorry it's not quite what op was looking for! slight dubcon warning because claude's the captain, but otherwise, this is very much a story about two consenting adults.

Nolan gets that this stuff happens to rookies.

He’s a high draft pick, the youngest guy on the team, and the vets here are pretty playful. He knows he’s the most obvious target for pranks, and he usually doesn’t mind, but, like—

Fuck, he has to _go._

There’s only one bathroom on the team plane, and currently, it’s being occupied by Claude, who’s, like, the fifth guy to cut in front of him in line. Which, haha, make the rookie squirm, but Nolan’s pretty sure this is bad for his health, at this point.

Also, Claude’s been in there for a while, and Nolan’s gotten to the point of bouncing around on his feet like he’s a toddler, or something. If Claude knew that he had to go this bad, he’d probably let him in. He’s mischievous, but he’s not evil.

“Dude,” Nolan says, banging on the door. “Hurry the fuck up.”

Claude laughs, and Nolan kind of wants to kill him. “Aw, rookie’s gonna have an accident?”

Nolan’s face burns at that; he’s 19 years old, not some kid about to piss his pants. Even if he’s, like, rapidly approaching the point of becoming a 19-year-old about to piss his pants—whatever. He’s not going to, is the point.

Probably.

“Seriously, let me in,” Nolan says.

“Is it an emergency?” Claude asks, still sounding like he’s talking to someone much younger.

Nolan kind of wants to tell him to cut it, but he feels himself leak, not enough that it’s visible on his pants, but probably leaving a spot on his boxers, and he decides he’s willing to put aside his pride, for the moment. “Yes, come on—”

Blessedly, Claude chooses that moment to open the door, and Nolan could kiss him in relief, except he doesn’t actually leave, just steps aside to make room for Nolan to walk in, staring at him kind of weird.

“What?” Claude says, when Nolan doesn’t move to enter. “I thought it was an emergency.”

“Are you—” Nolan gulps, but steps into the tiny plane bathroom anyway, half-hoping that he’s calling Claude’s bluff.

He’s not sure what the other half is hoping for.

Regardless, Claude doesn’t leave, just closes and locks the door behind them, the lights slightly brightening. He’s still looking at Nolan with this strange, half-mesmerized, half-determined look on his face.

“What are you staring at?” Nolan says, and he knows his cheeks are redder than usual, but he’s desperate and embarrassed and not hating it nearly as much as he should be, which is making him feel all sorts of things that he’s too scared to dwell on.

“Do you even know what you look like right now?” Claude says, which doesn’t answer Nolan’s question.

Nolan just shrugs, blushing even deeper.

“You’re a mess,” Claude says, shamelessly looking Nolan up and down, and Nolan thinks he could actually spontaneously combust from how _much_ he’s feeling, and how little he understands it.

“Okay,” Nolan says, and fuck, he sounds so flustered. “Well, I’m just gonna do what I need to, so you should leave, unless you wanna…” he’s not really sure how to finish that sentence, so he just lets his voice trail off.

Claude’s eyes turn dark. “Is there another option?”

They’re both athlete-sized, and the bathroom isn’t big enough for Nolan to comfortably whip it out without Claude, like, touching him, and despite the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s about to burst with how badly he needs to go, he’s not sure he’d be able to do it with Claude watching.

But at the same time, he can’t bring himself to say no.

“You tell me, captain,” Nolan says.

Claude stares at him for a beat, his face heavy and serious, and then, “How badly do you need to go?”

“Uh,” Nolan says, his attention suddenly refocused on his body’s very, very urgent need to release, and he has to squeeze his legs together as another bit of urine escapes him. This time, it might actually get on his pants, and he’s already dreading his next trip to the dry cleaner’s. “Pretty badly.”

“You had that really big bottle of water before we boarded,” Claude observes. “And it’s a long flight back to Philly.”

Those are two facts that Nolan is painfully aware of, and trying not to think about. It’s easier when he’s not visualizing the amount of liquid his bladder is currently holding.

Another leak, and this one definitely is making it onto his pants, so he brings his hand to hold his crotch, officially reaching desperate child territory, but apparently, pride is relative these days. “Alright, I’m just gonna—” he starts to make his way toward the toilet, but Claude stops him, gently pushing his shoulder against the door.

“You sure about that?”

Nolan gulps, shaking with all kinds of fear and embarrassment. “Stop messing with me, man.”

“Who says I’m messing with you?” Claude says.

And that’s the thing—Nolan’s pretty sure he’s not, but if Claude’s serious about this, Nolan’s not sure he wants to know what ‘this’ is.

But he also can’t _not_ know, so.

“What are you trying to do, make me piss my pants, or something?”

Claude hums, pressing a little harder on Nolan’s shoulder. “Not necessarily.”

“What does that mean?” Nolan says, ignoring the way his bladder is screaming at him to just push Claude off of him and get to the fucking toilet. He’d probably let him, if Nolan asked him to, but Nolan is more than a little curious, now.

“I just want to see how long you can hold it.” Claude says, and his mouth quirks into an amused smile, even though nothing’s really funny. “Kind of like a game.”

“A game,” Nolan echoes.

“Yeah,” Claude says. “I’ll let go when you absolutely need me to.” He nudges Nolan’s hand away from his crotch, and Nolan feels the humiliation deep in his gut as he replaces it with his own, sees it on Claude’s face when he realizes what the wet patch on the front of his suit pants is. “Oh, wow, you really have to—”

“Trust me, I know,” Nolan says, pushing into Claude’s hand, and despite everything, he feels his dick harden a little. It’s fucked up that he’s already too embarrassed about everything else to be embarrassed about that, probably, but he can only handle so much humiliation.

“You’re probably gonna want to tap out any minute,” Claude says.

Nolan swallows, willing his voice to come out even. “I still haven’t agreed to play this game.”

“Well, I don’t know how much longer you have to make a decision,” Claude says.

Nolan shrugs, feeling weirdly brave, now that his pride is pretty much a lost cause. “So if I tell you to let me go, I win?”

“Pretty much.”

“And how do you win?”

“Well,” Claude says. “If you don’t.”

“If I don’t what? Tell you to let me go?”

“Yeah, more or less,” Claude says with a shrug.

Nolan snorts. “Thought you weren’t trying to make me wet myself.”

“I’m not trying to make you do anything,” Claude says. “The ball’s in your court.”

“But you want me to,” Nolan says, and it’s not a question. It’s also not really an accusation, but it does mean that they’ve both got something to be embarrassed about.

It’s Claude’s turn to blush at that. “It’s fun,” he says. “Watching you get all… needy.”

“So you’re trying to get me to beg you to let me go,” Nolan says.

Claude shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Or—maybe.”

“Make up your mind, so I can make up mine,” Nolan says. “The clock’s ticking down.”

Claude bites his lip. “I like messing you up,” he says, his voice soft, like of everything that’s happening right now, that’s the part he’s embarrassed to confess.

Maybe in another world, or with another person, that would be embarrassing, but right here and now, in Nolan’s ears, it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.

The thing is, Nolan isn’t a soft guy, and he’s had to endure his fair share of jokes about pale skin and rosy cheeks, and generally being treated like he’s delicate. He hates it, and he hates how he has to be strong and stoic all the time to avoid it, because sometimes, he just wants to be taken apart, and he’s never met someone he trusted enough to do that for.

Until now.  

Claude is his captain, and he’s a good one, and, for all that he’s an asshole, he really does seem to get that Nolan’s not a pushover, and he’s never really treated him like one.

And, like he said before, the ball is in Nolan’s court, so Nolan makes the decision to go slack.

“Hold me down,” he tells Claude. “I’ll try and hold it in for you.”

“You sure?” Claude asks.

Nolan nods, not really wanting to waste energy on words, but he figures Claude will want something more definitive, so he manages to say, “yes.”

Claude’s grip gets firmer, and he puts his thigh right up against Nolan’s crotch. “This good?”

Nolan pulls Claude closer so he can tuck his face into his shoulder, pressing them together. He squeezes, because if he’s gonna hold on any longer, it means he’s using every muscle in his body. He feels distant and alert at the same time, like his head is totally turned off, singularly focused on one task, and he whimpers as a little more comes out, rocking his hips against Claude’s thigh.

“Oh, kid,” Claude says, running a hand through Nolan’s hair. “I wish I’d let you in earlier.”

“Why?” Nolan asks, and it’s too breathy and muffled by Claude’s shirt to sound like an actual word, but Claude answers him anyway.

“So I could’ve seen more of you like this,” Claude says. “You’re so beautiful like this, you know?”

Nolan’s brain can’t decide between humiliation, arousal, and warmth at the praise, so it lands on some strange combination of all three, and Nolan doesn’t have room for all of these things anymore.

“I have to let go,” Nolan says.

“You want to go to the toilet?”

“I’m not gonna make it,” Nolan says. “Not in time to get my pants off, anyway.”

“It’s only a few inches—”

“Claude,” Nolan says. “I’m not gonna make it.”

Claude gulps, and Nolan can feel him get hard—or, no, hard _er,_ because Claude’s been hard this whole time, and Nolan hadn’t even noticed. “Then let go.”

He moves his leg slightly, enough that he’s not pressing against Nolan’s dick anymore, but he’s still between his inner thighs, inches from Nolan’s dick, and the loss of pressure is enough that Nolan’s bladder finally gives way.

The first thing he feels is relief.

It takes a second for it to leak through the fabric of his pants, but it runs down his legs, hot and shameful and so fucking _good._ It’s a lot, and it pools in and around his shoes, soaking his dress socks, and like, he doesn’t even care, because every muscle in his body is thanking him for finally letting go.

But it’s still a lot of shame, like he should’ve held on just a little longer, because he’s spent, like, at least 18 years training himself to not do this, and it’s a mess, sticky and rapidly cooling, and he’s not sure how he’s gonna clean this up—it’s an airplane, it barely has a functioning sink—let alone get away with this without everyone knowing.

“Fuck,” Claude hisses in his ear, and Nolan can feel that his leg is covered with piss— _Nolan’s_ piss—too.

That’s what urges Nolan to finally look down as the stream dies down after what feels like minutes, because he might be experiencing new levels of humiliation, but he has to see what Claude wanted so badly, wanted all over himself and Nolan both, and more than anything, he wants to see the way it looks on Claude.

And it’s… a lot.

Like. Wow, he actually pissed himself, and pissed all over his captain, and they’re both soaked. The dark fabric of his suit is clinging to his thighs, and it’s so obvious what happened—he couldn’t hold it in. He had an accident, like a fucking child, except it was on purpose.

And he’d _liked_ it, too, which is so fucked up that the mixture of pleasure and humiliation settling low in his stomach receives a heaping dose of shame, combining with everything else, and his entire body feels like it’s on fire.

“Oh my god,” he says, his voice so fucking weak.

“Yeah,” Claude says, except he doesn’t sound nearly as mortified as as Nolan feels. “This might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, shit.”

Nolan looks him right in the eye, because Claude—he’s also embarrassed by this, and Nolan knows it, but he’s too turned on by Nolan right now to care, and that’s a feeling that goes straight to Nolan’s head, and to his dick.

So, without thinking about it, he drops to his knees, figuring his pants are a lost cause, and starts to undo Claude’s belt.

“I’m gonna suck your dick,” he says, and then he looks up. “That cool?”

Claude’s head is already thrown back. “Fuck, yeah.”

It’s probably one of the better and more tame decisions Nolan’s made, all things considered. It gets him out of his head, because this sensation is at least familiar, not something he has to figure out, and his insides are a whirlwind of guilt and confusion that need to settle down, and this helps.

He gets his mouth on Claude before his pants are even all the way on the ground, but when the are, he makes sure they get more piss of them to, as, like—a reminder, maybe. Like, sure, Nolan pissed himself all over both of them, but he’s not gonna be the only one with something to explain the next time he gets his suit cleaned.

Plus, Claude’s so fucking turned on by all this, and Nolan’s, like, pretty into that.

He can smell himself as he goes down on Claude. When he puts his hand on his thigh, he can feel the sticky-wet patch of drying piss, and he might be imagining this part, but he’s pretty sure he can also taste it.

Which. Gross. Fucked up. Absolutely disgusting.

And also…

Holy _fuck._

When Claude tugs Nolan’s hair to signal that he’s gonna come, Nolan instinctively pulls off and starts jerking him off, and Claude doesn’t even seem surprised as Nolan closes his eyes and lets Claude come on his face, making sure to let it dribble down his lips and cheeks, turning his head so he’s coated in it, because Claude’s not gonna be the only one walking around with residue of shared shame on his skin today.

It’s primal, the desire to mark his territory and be marked as Claude’s territory, but fuck if it’s not the most satisfying thing he’s ever done.

“How’s that for a mess?” Nolan says, giving Claude a cheeky grin.

For the first time that Nolan’s ever seen, Claude looks caught off-guard, too blissed-out and overwhelmed to think of any sort of witty response beyond a breathy chuckle. “Jesus, kid.”

“You don’t get to call me ‘kid’ while I’ve got your jizz in my hair,” Nolan says.

Claude looks down at him. “Wow, you really do,” he says, then runs his fingers through it, pushing more come through his hair.

It occurs to Nolan that he’s got a lot of self-reflection to do after this.

“My stuff’s in the back row,” Claude says. “I’ve got extra clothes.”

“Pretty sure I’ll still need a shower,” Nolan says.

“Clean clothes is the best we can do for now,” Claude says. “You should sit next to me when we go back out there.”

“Why?”

Claude shrugs. “If you’re gonna be like this, I might as well enjoy the view.”

It makes Nolan shudder. “Jesus, you’re really into this stuff.”

“Maybe a bit,” Claude says, and then he puts a hand under Nolan’s chin, crouches down, and plants a kiss to his lips, the kind of thing that would be sweet if Nolan didn’t know for a fact that Claude was tasting his own come on Nolan’s lips.

It’s actually still pretty sweet regardless.

“Try and clean yourself up a bit, okay?” Claude says, pulling up his pants. There’s a conspicuous stain, but maybe it’ll pass for a weird sink malfunction, or something. The guys probably assumed they were hooking up in here anyway; maybe he’ll say Nolan sat on the faucet, or whatever, if anyone asks. “I’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” Nolan says, and Claude opens the door, the bathroom going dim again as he slides out quickly, and Nolan gets up to lock it once more.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and—jesus, he really is a mess, every bit as much as he feels like one.

For a second, he thinks about trying to wipe himself down, like Claude said, but he doesn’t know if he’s ever been messy like this before, or if he’ll ever get to be messy like this again, so he just—

Okay, and like, he knows this is totally gross—

But he basks.

Just a little.  


End file.
